Monsters Vs. Mantras
I’m one of those weird people who still wears a Livestrong-style rubber bracelet. Even after four years, I can’t seem to take the blue “I’M ENOUGH” bracelet off my wrist.
Little mantras have always been sprinkled throughout my life, like colorful bits that brighten up the dark times. Back in high school, I had a piece of paper taped on my bathroom mirror with “Every day in every way, my life gets better and better” written on it in curly handwriting. I would say it to myself three times every morning. It was sort of like that myth of saying “Bloody Mary” three times in front of a mirror to make her appear. I, however, kept the lights on and hoped friends and confidence would suddenly materialize in front of me like I was my own fairy godmother.
In college, my life did get better. I constantly told myself, I’ve never felt more confident in myself and loved than this moment. I truly believed I was enough — just as my bracelet, which I acquired junior year, reminded me.
The white letters of my bracelet mantra are peeling away. All that’s left is I’M, half of an E, O, and the G has turned into a C. Alcoholism and addiction started taking a toll on a loved one, M, around the time the words started disappearing into gibberish. Doubt in myself, my future and M started to take the place of the N, U and H.
I stopped focusing on myself as M’s monsters grew larger. I wanted so badly to be able to defeat them. For a span of time, just showing up was enough to bring M to a happy place. I’d drop everything to be there for this person I love so much. But eventually, I couldn’t keep the monsters at bay. They started turning good days with M into the worst days — it was like a switch flipped. I started wondering how I could possibly be enough if I couldn’t help M.
I’d watched enough ABC Family shows to know what Al-Anon was when someone recommended I find a meeting. Initially, I scoffed at the idea. On the list of activities I don’t enjoy, you’ll find group bonding exercises under camping and running. Plus I wasn’t ready to process what I was going through with a group of people I didn’t know. But I needed something, anything, to help me defeat M’s monster’s hold over my life.
Coincidentally, the theme of the meeting I go to by my house is “Our Slogans.” We go around and pick a passage from the daily reader connected to phrases like “Just For Today,” “Easy Does It,” and “Progress Not Perfection.” (I can never pick “First Things First.” Thanks for ruining that one for me, Iggy.) Then we read the passage aloud before reflecting on what it means to us. No one can interject or ask questions. Each of us just has three minutes completely to ourselves, something many of us don’t have very often. In those three minutes, I feel like my emotions are finally validated. No one tells me to stop crying or to quit feeling so angry.
Admittedly, parts of the meetings freak me out. I’m not used to hearing a group of people say in unison, “Hi, Devon” and “Thanks for sharing.” I can’t tell you what each of the 12 steps are or all the words to The Serenity Prayer. But when I find pieces of myself in the stories people tell, I remember why I keep going back. They’ve all experienced the same doubt, pain and insecurities. Sometimes I just want to put my hands up like the hallelujah hands emoji and sing that “High School Musical” song “We’re All in This Together”. I like to imagine Zac Efron feels the same way in AA meetings.
I’m learning to “Live and Let Live,” which is my favorite of the slogans. I’m starting to accept that I can’t fix M. The only person who truly can is M. Thankfully, M is on the road to recovery, just like I am. But this isn’t a motorcycle situation with M driving and me in the sidecar. We have our own bikes. Mine may be faster and more efficient, but at least M’s keys are in the ignition.
Now, whenever I feel doubt filling in the letters of my bracelet telling me I’m not enough, I talk over it. “Live and Let Live.” Maybe I need a bracelet that says that, too.
